


Sleek Shiny Long Hard Things

by omnitit



Category: Shrek (Movies), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Memes, but then again, goddamnit im so sorry if you choose to read this, started as a joke but i got attached to this piece, thats what you get for clicking on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8403235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omnitit/pseuds/omnitit
Summary: Shadow has been planning this date for several months now, especially since it's the one where we will finally ask his boyfriend to be official boyfriends.But some things get in the way as he prepares.





	

**Author's Note:**

> rip @ you

 

Your name is SHADOW. You are indeed,  _ The Shadow the Hedgehog _ . You enjoy wandering around at night, your blatant cigarette lighter alit in gloved hand, lighting up the musky cologne filled air around your quaft and crisped quills. 

Guns are quite an equal opponent too, so sleek and shiny and long, hard and always ready to put out their best work.

 

_ Just like your boyfriends dick. _

Well, of course, he isn't  _ exactly  _ your  _ boyfriend _ , but it sounds  _ way  _ hotter than calling him your  _ mutual _ or  _ acquaintance _ . 

You'd like for it to be that way, you and him together, reenacting the favourite parts of your favourite movies. And as in  **your** favourite movies you of course mean  **his** .

 

Your movie choices suck ass more than he does in your rainy day daydreams.

From ' Con Air ' to ' Happy Feet ', you'd rather not talk about the revoked number of times you have tried to abstain from leaving your dimly lit not-so-humble abode to go to the movie theatre with any non-specific life form. And many a time you have failed, resulting in the dreaded trip down the block to 'Movie Cine'. 

 

What a fucking great name. Suits the place well, especially for the fact that  **they only show one movie a month** .

What good is a movie theatre if they don't show movie **_s_ ** ? Sure one is nice if it is at a home theatre, but you are  _ dreadfully _ surprised that this place stays in business. It's been around since your raven and red quills were slicked back superbly.

 

But asides from the fact that you fucking hate Movie Cine more than you hate fucking in the stale-ass seats that line the single operable (movie theatre room), you can’t stand the atmosphere of the place. Who even likes the smell of mothballs and subdued patiently rotting flesh? Plus the decor of the shithole looks like something straight outta one of the episodes of the Addams Family, not that you don’t mind that, it's just that it's not the kind of thing that one would expect from Movie Theatres in general.

  
  


. . .

  
  


So, currently you stand in deeper metaphorical shit that you’ve ever stood in except for that one time with Sonic that you’d rather not talk about. You’ve got roughly 15 minutes before one of your dates, and through some rather valid sources you’ve fallen to know that your not-actually-boyfriend is planning on making the two of y’all officially boyfriend and boyfriend. Due to this reconciled information, you are planning on spicing up this particular date with some lovely mementos...that is if you could find said lovely mementos.

 

You were planning on whipping out ((your dick)) the first gun he ever bought you as an apology gift for that time when he got pissed at the end of  _ Pokémon: Zoroark—Master of Illusions  _ and gently picked you off the couch before hurling it at the television in a fit of anger and genuine sadness.

 

That movie was never watched again.

But the apologetic present was unadulteratedly named “Meema” in blatant reference to the movie.

 

Along with your expertly named gift weapon, you wanted to find his favourite obnoxious onion scented candles to spice up the fancy-ish dinner you were planning, a week old bouquet of black roses and red-ish foxglove that are probably wilting and wrinkly, your favourite Kamina printed table cloth, a cardboard box filled with your ever loved costumes for the nefarious ‘dress up time’, and lastly a second box that contains your prized collection of limited edition barely-used Bad Dragon dragon dildos that you’re planning on decorating the dinner table with as both a joke and a stylistic preference.

Y’know what, if this was any other date you’d fuck it; push away the hopes and pop in some obviously shitty movie and wait for the date to show up.

But this isn’t any other date

This is  **the** date.

The  _ most important date of your life so far _ .

If you fuck this up he won’t fuck up you tonight.

Or maybe ever.

Fuck

You gotta learn to control your damn sexy thoughts, no wonder you suck ass at getting a job like any other smoothly kinky anthropomorphic hedgehog who has a large ego and condescending sexual thoughts about literally everyone does.

You can’t even name someone you know that you’ve never thought about doin’ it with.

Fucking nymphomaniacal bitch.

But let’s keep that raging self hate out out and away from today's date, as was said, it's hella special so perhaps dress up in a suit or something fancy yet not expensive so you won’t care too too much when he’s ripping it off of you, planting kisses down the quills on your back, his hands tenderly caressing all those ever important spots that he knows almost too well. So well that he’s basically left a phantom imprint on you, leaving you with an overwhelmingly real sensation of his dedicated hands traveling your needy little twunk body. Pinching and pressing, sliding down lower and lower ‘till you start to feel uncomfortable no matter what place you may be in, and subsequently have to excuse yourself before you soil your pants or embarrass the fuck outta yourself with your sissy moans and whimpers.

 

...

 

If you keep this up you’ll soil your temperament and that suit that’ll just end up being soiled if things bode well for this trashfest of a date.

Which it surely will be if you don’t get your slow emo ass in gear.

Too bad Sonic finally got his not-slow ass in gear and hightailed the fuck outta your place roughly two weeks ago, ‘cause with his help you two would be able to get everything set up and perfect quicker than sex with a virgin. 

  
  


Well now you got Sonic on the mind so that’ll serve as an incentive to search and finish up your masterpiece, but for now you gotta check your phone ‘cause it's ringing off the hook with ‘Jaw Drop’ by ‘Cash Cash’’.

Fun.

It's a text.

From  _ him. _

“Hey babe sorry but I got a few things to fix up so why don't’cha wait a few before I get around to your place. I’ll be there in about 15-20 minutes now. See you there ;)”

Great mother of Barack Obama’s splendid tits you’re happy as fuck. So happy that you have to wait roughly five minutes before replying so you can calm down the Fourth of July Fireworks Festival going off in your head.

“Sounds good, have fun fixing up your things while i fix up my place. Love ya ;3”

He replies back,  _ seconds later. _

“Alright nice. As an apology I’ll make sure to bring some party supplies ;)”

“Don’t, i got all the party supplies we need over here >;3c Don't stress yourself and try and fix w/e thing you had to”

Good. Now back to the fun part.

_ Cleaning. _

 

Jk fuck that shit now that your head is outta your ass you can see in plain sight the majority of the mementos you were looking for...maybe.

Maybe your Sonic fantasies will come earlier, and hopefully you do to becuase that you be an unholy sight for your bf if he walks in on you going to pleasure city while thinking about an ex.

 

Fuck it.

 

He probably wouldn’t even know you were thinking about Sonic, plus you could easily play it off like you were getting angsty and couldn’t wait for him any longer.  

 

Fuck it x2

 

You saunter over to the bookshelf in the corner and reach up to the third shelf in which you were 99.9% sure you saw the cardboard box that has “these dildos are big as fuck, but i can take them with no luck” scrawled on the side.

Well fuck me sideways. You were as right as you could ever be.

But to your surprise, the box had the rest of the mementos in it...you must’ve chucked the same items in this box from your last date here which felt like 70 billion years ago.

 

By all the mementos you of course don’t mean the foxglove and roses ‘cause that’d be hella weird. You don’t know where the fuck they are and to be honest you don’t give two shits. Might as well cut to the chase and sneak into Amy Rose’s backyard and steal some of her roses and foxglove...that IS where you snagged the first bouquet anyways, it's not like she’s going to smash you to pieces with her hammer and then make sure to light your shattered remnants on fire because you managed to get with Sonic and you refuse to tell her how satisfyingly amazing his dick is and if he’s dominant or submissive in bed and what brand & size & style of underwear he has and his cologne brand and whether he likes having sex in weird places or not.

 

Some of her questions actually made you want to think about those specific details.

 

You’d never actually thought about what his favourite toothpaste was, and which side of the bed he prefered, and which was his favourite routine thing to do in the morning, and what he did to calm himself down when stressed, and especially which things he does fast, and which things he takes slowly...

 

Well oh by gosh by golly now your dick hurts like the dickens in post longing of Sonic’s sweet embrace. And the embrace of his warm mouth. Around your throbbing cock.

And his head bobbing up and down in perfect harmony with your meek hip thrusts in reluctant desire to relieve that burning pleasureable pressure. You’d feel his hands slide up your legs until they came across your hips, and the subtle circles he rubbed there as he pushed you back against any surface was enough to drive most well respectable men mad. And it sure as hell drove you mad. You’d gasp out his name in chunks, along with blithering swears and choked back moans. Eventually you’d catch him moaning out too, and the rumbling of said moans around your cock would be absolutely riveting. Revel in them while you can, because past-you’s days are painfully numbered.

 

NOT AS PAINFUL AS YOUR FUCKING GROINAL AREA RIGHT NOW HOLY FUCK

 

And too bad the pain ruined your perfectly possible wet daydream, but also the clock is ticking, motherfucker. Get your rear in gear.

 

You hoist the box down and sort through the revoltingly moist ‘decorations’ to find the rest of your brigade. At the bottom you pull out your Kamina tablecloth and drape it over your drab dining table. You chuck the dildos into the sink ‘cause they desperately need a cleaning. Meema (the gun not the Zoroark) is secured firmly in your handy-dandy gun holster lingerie, complete with red lace straps and ruby sequins, so you pull her out and tie a splendid ribbon bow around it, placing it on the table. 

Next comes the fucking terrible candles, but smell aside, you pop their caps and light them up, meticulously placing them on the table.

 

You walk on over to the sink, and begin washing the sin out of the dildos. They gotta be clean as fuck if they’ll be taking a seat on the the Table of Victory along with a subsequently ordered pizza. The breeze blowing around shit air isn’t good for eating environments and most other environments as well. 

Doubt he’d mind it though, he’d gladly eat your ass as if it were Pepperoni and Cheese pizza at a goddamn Chuck e Cheese.

Speaking of Chuck e Cheese, if the two of you didn’t have slightly higher standards than eating shitty pizza and swindle some stupid kids out of their money just so you nerds can rent out the entire Lazer Tag arena and fuck where the camera view doesn’t reach, you’d be having this oh-so-important date there. Or at a McDonalds. Or at a motherfucking public bathroom.

BUT since you despise the smell of adolescent misfortune and unknown grease, you’d gladly have the date here: in your shitty ass house that reeks of furries and desolation.

‘Eau de Yiff’ probably isn’t helping that smell fade any faster, but it sure does cause quite a commotion when you take your daily morning stroll to snag a donut from Cumberland Farms.

All the dogs come running after you like you’re a big fat skirt steak dripping in A1 steak sauce.

But it does help you snag the nose of your lover. He loves those savoury and strong scents, but this is the only one that you can stomach wearing without visibly gagging at the scent. You love him, but sometimes you can’t deal with the things he likes.

Serves you right for having him have to put up with your late-night melodramas accompanied with skype calls with Sonic.

You usually have video off. For reasons.   
  
  


Like the reasons you’re cleaning the dildos right now. Y’know,  _ reasons _ .   
  


After washing up your favourite Demon Dick dildo, you set up the finally clean ones down upon the table.

Six seems to be enough, the table looks well set so you chuck the rest back into the box, and the box under a side table.

Your phone buzzes, Jaw Drop again, signalling that it's your bf.

 

You pick up and the first thing you hear is a low yet loud rumbling. And then a burp.

“Hey, Shadow”

Oh god do you love the way he says your name.

“I’m almost there, make sure to set out the-”

The call is cut off by a loud vibrating followed by that oh so familiar guitar riff. 

The one from ‘Get Nice!’ by ‘zebrahead’.

 

The one that you set as Sonic’s ringtone.

 

. . .

 

You know that you’d better pick up quickly or else he’ll hang up fast.

But something is holding you back.

You can’t bring yourself to halt the beautifulness of reminiscing about Sonic while listening to this song.

What the fuck just fucking talk to him, stop reminiscing when you’ve got the real deal right here.

You pick up and  _ guess fucking what?? ??  ?? ? _ It’s Sonic.

He sounds distressed.

Not sexually (sadly), but more in a sad way.

 

“Shadow you here?”

“Yes”

“Okay cool”

He’s talking slowly, something is definitely up.

“I need to talk to you about something”

“Yeah okay.”   


“Do you..like me?”

“That’s a stupid question. Why would I answer that when you should know the answer”

“I wouldn’t ask you if i knew the question you goddamn  _ edgelord _ ”   
He laughs, fast and happy and oh god if he was here you’d  _ die _ to make him even happier.

“ _~~ Ffuckk... hhh  ~~ _ So  _ do  _ you know the answer, Treadmill Rodent?”

“I don’t even want to answer that after hearing you call me fucking  _ Treadmill Rodent _ ”

“I could call you something else if you don’t like my attempts at sassing you”

“Sure, even though this is straying away from my main question, what do you have in mind?”

 

_ ‘Daddy’ you think _ . “Daddy” you say.

 

_ Fuck WAIT _

 

“...”

 

He hangs up, and you plop down on the couch, groaning in distress as you glance out the window.

 

_ His _ car isn’t here, you could probably take a break and seek a solution for your little problem.

You sigh, a hint of discomfort coming out as well as you stand up and draw the curtains.

You wouldn’t want your neighbors watching in on you jerkin’ it.

You scowl as you sit down, grumbling and palming yourself through your pants.

The amount of tension you’re feeling makes you bite down on your lip, sharp fangs pricking the tender flesh and drawing blood.

“Hhhh~...” you groan out, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down.

Your tongue wipes away the orbs on blood on you lip, and your s/m emo ass is totally attracted to that.

You finish sliding your pants down, and chuck off your Ryuko boxers and immediately get at it, with a flick of the wrist and a twitch of the thigh, you’re in the mood.

 

Finishing whatever setup you have left will have to wait, especially since there’s a knock at your door and you’re in the front room, red handed.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> god, you can see where i left off and came back because the writing and formatting style changed im so sorry


End file.
